


Finish What You Started

by fannyvonfabulus



Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom
Genre: 80's rock, F/M, PORNY PORNY PORN PORN, PWP, Public (sort of) sex, Shameless abuse of Van Halen lyrics, and AC/DC lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:37:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyvonfabulus/pseuds/fannyvonfabulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A shitty rock bar, some classic rock, a pint is thrown which leads to more classic rock. </p><p>Its dirty, it’s sweaty and even just a little bit cheap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finish What You Started

**Author's Note:**

> Swearing, public sex, the c-word, drinking and gratuitous 80’s rock. Think that’s it.
> 
> Inspired entirely all the 80’s rock I listen to. In particular:  
> Van Halen’s Finish What You Started  
> AC/DC’s Live Wire (personally, I think that tune should follow J-Ren around permanently) 
> 
> Thanks to bennysemma again for being my beta – she rocks. Hard.
> 
> Also, I’m British so when I say things like vest, I mean tank top. I think.

 “Aw, c’mon mama, please? Just dinner, that’s all.” He’s nothing if not persistent. 

“No.”

"Please?"

“NO!”

“C’mon. You know you fucking want to.”

You sigh as he walks backwards down the pavement in front of you and try not to smile back as he grins at you.  You can tell he could be trouble as he flashes those blue-green eyes at you like he did back at the bar.  The lines at the side of his eyes become more prominent as he grins and his mouth curves upwards slightly more on one side.

“I think you owe me dinner,” he says, stopping in front of you so you have to step around him.  He doesn’t let you and moves to stand in your way again.

“Oh? And how did you work that one out?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him and trying to look exasperated as you attempt to get past him,

“You owe me after you threw your fucking beer over me.” His shit-eating grin widens and he waggles a finger at you. 

 And you had. 

You’d gone to that dirty, dingy rock bar that you love with a couple of friends to blow off some steam after a crappy week at work.  You’d been dancing and, despite that fact that you looked like a flailing spider, you didn’t need him laughing at you.  You’d retaliated by throwing your entire pint over him and telling him to go fuck himself.  He roared with laughter and bought you another drink.  He’d then spent the last 2 hours at the bar trying to get you to go to dinner with him.

“You started that,” you reply, batting his hand out the way.  “Shouldn’t have laughed at my dancing.”

“Oh that was _dancing_ …..”

“Very fucking funny.”

“C’mon, it’s only dinner,” he persists; you let your head flop backwards in vexation.  He’s not going to let you get away without saying yes.

“AL _RIGHT_!” you gasp, trying to sound irritated.  “If I say yes, will you fuck off and leave me alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine.  Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you. There. Happy?”

He smirks happily at you, standing there in his Led Zeppelin t-shirt looking like butter wouldn’t melt.

Smug fucker.

“Good girl! Now, gimme your number.”

You write your number on the back of his hand next to the stamp from the bar and doubt that he’ll actually call you.  And anyway, it’ll probably have washed off by the morning so he won’t be able to.

“Can I go now?” you ask, putting the lid back on the Sharpie.

“You may.” He bows as he stands out of your way.  You shake your head at him and move past, your car only a few steps away.  “You owe me so I _WILL_ be calling you.”

“You fucking started it,” you throw back at him over your shoulder before you get in your car and pull way, leaving him standing on the pavement.

 

            *                      *                      *                      *                      *

 

He does call you.

The very next afternoon in fact.

He still says you owe him.

And you still insist that he started it.

That’s why you’re sat opposite each other two days later in an Italian restaurant not that far away from the shitty rock bar that you met him in.

You laugh, you joke; you tease each other and the sexual tension between the two of you builds until you’re sure you could reach out and touch it.

You know full well who he is.

You knew that even before you threw your pint over him.

Still doesn’t mean you’ll let him off for laughing at your ridiculous dancing. 

Turns out you click. 

Really click.

You’re into a lot of the same things and you have a similar sense of humour.  You certainly both have the same taste in music or why else would you both have been at that bar with the sticky floor and the old broken amps stacked in the corner?

“Fancy heading back to the bar so I can laugh at your dancing some more?” he smirks as you stand outside the restaurant after dinner.

“You really want to start that again?” you sigh in reply, crossing your arms across your chest.

He winks.

His smirk broadens.

“Fine. Come on then.” You point at him with your eyebrow arched. “But laugh at me again and you’ll have more than a fucking pint heading your way.”

He laughs and offers you his arm.  You take it and you walk the short distance to the bar.  It’s busy and there’s a band playing live this time.  The dance floor is crammed with sweaty bodies all rising and falling at the same time to the beat of the music.  The band are good and playing all the old classics that you love.  He seems to approve as well; he’s soon nodding his head to the music as you both stand at the bar, beers in hand.

It’s so loud that you can’t hear each other speak, so you resort to some sort of makeshift sign language.  He points at you with his bottle of beer then at the dance floor, his eyes glinting again.

You shake your head and point your beer at the both of you then at the dance floor.  He shakes his head so you put down your beer and roll your eyes at him.  Stretching your arms out in front of you, you crack your knuckles like you mean business before starting to walk backwards towards the heaving crowd of dancers.  You beckon him with your finger and he still shakes his head.  Instead he leans back against the bar and watches you, a smirk beginning to curl at the corners of his mouth as he takes a swig of his beer.  The band has just struck up with the cords of one of your favourite songs and you turn to cheer at them along with everyone else.  The opening cords are sexy as fuck and the club being as loud as it is, the sound vibrates right through you to your very core. 

You start to move to the music, eyes closed, not caring what you look like or who can see you, especially not him.  When a song takes you, it takes you hard and to hell with everyone else.  What can you say? AC/DC turn you on like no other band can.  The dance floor is crowded and it’s hot.  All the people crammed into such a small place make the air heavy with body heat, sweat and rock & roll.

_“Well if you’re lookin’ for trouble,_

_I’m the man to see_

_If you’re lookin’ for satisfaction,_

_I’m satisfaction guaranteed……”_

You feel someone grip your shoulder and you assume it’s one of the other people in the crowd, but the hand slowly makes its way down your arm to your wrist, fingers brushing lightly, leaving a tingling path in their wake. Your wrist is encircled by the wandering fingers, gentle yet insistent, and your eyes open at the same time as your lips part around a soft sigh.  There’s someone standing behind you. You turn your head to see those blue-grey eyes, this time glinting with more than just amusement.  They’re heavy lidded and dangerous.

They were trouble.

He was trouble.

And you love it.

He uses his hand on your wrist to turn you around to face him and then puts your arm behind you so he can pull you to him.  The gap closes and you’re pressed hard against him as he looks straight into your eyes hungrily.  His other hand snakes up behind you until his palm cradles the back of your skull and his fingers grip your hair.

_“I’m cooler than a body on ice,_

_Or hotter than a rollin’ dice_

_Send you to heaven_

_Take you to hell,_

_I ain’t foolin’,_

__Can’t you tell……”_ _

You both start to move to the music as one, each movement causing you to rub against him in some sort of exquisite torture. Every motion makes your nipples harden just that little bit more and you wonder if he can feel them through your vest and his t-shirt. 

_“I'm a live wire, I'm a live wire, I'm a live wire_

_Gonna set this town on fire….”_

You’re nose to nose and you’re lips are close.

So close.

Almost touching but not quite.

You can feel his breath, panting against your own mouth, but he doesn’t kiss you.  Instead, he pushes his hips against your own, still moving with the music.  His eyes feel like they’re burning into your very soul as he looks deep into you with those hungry pools of aquamarine.

_“Well if you need some lovin'_

_And if you need some man_

_You've got the phone and the number_

_And I got no future plans….”_

Finally, _finally,_ he brushes his lips across yours and sparks shoot through your body at the touch.  The crowd, the band and the noise all fade into the background and there’s only the two of you now.  He’s still holding one of your arms behind your back but the other is free; you bring your hand up to his neck, resting it on his collar bone with your fingers on his skin by his jugular.  You can feel his pulse, strong and steady.  At your touch, he pulls you even closer against him and he’s hard.

Really hard.

He kisses you now, urgently but softly, and you melt against him.  He tastes of beer, cigarettes and man and you want more.  Your tongue glides across his bottom lip and he growls against you as slides his thigh between your legs.  You’re aware of how hot the bar is, or could that just be you? He feels like a furnace against you and he’s ignited something raw and primal within you.  You want to rip his clothes off right then and there so you can lick and bite every inch of him.  You want to know what he feels like under your hands and you want chew on his glorious arms.

And you want him to fuck you.

Oh, do you want him to fuck you.

You want him to fuck you in every dirty, depraved way known to mankind.

You even want him to fuck you right there, surrounded by people on the dance floor.

You don’t care how or where, you just want him inside you.

Now.

Your hand moves from his neck, down over his chest and in between you both until you can feel him hard against his jeans. 

_“Oh come on honey you got nothin' to lose_

_You got the thirst 'n I got the booze_

_Give you an inch_

_Take you a mile_

_I wanna make you smile….”_

He pulls his lips away from yours as he feels you touch him; his smirk is wider than it’s ever been and you can’t help but grin at him a little as his eyes glint with a mixture of lust and mischief.

He’s up for this as much as you are.

He kisses you again but this time its lips and teeth and tongue and you reciprocate, all the while nearly tearing open the back of his t-shirt, desperate to get at his skin.  His hands are now both on your backside, pushing you against his thigh and, not caring if anyone can see you, you shamelessly grind against him.

So hot.

So wet.

Your hands scramble to get under the fabric of his t-shirt and they find his flesh, a little clammy from the building sweat and you dig your nails in and rake them down from his shoulders to the small of his back.  He tenses then growls into your mouth, his own hips joining the rhythm of yours.  If anyone noticed the pair of you now, it would most definitely look like you were actually fucking each other right there on the dance floor.

_“Cooler than a body on ice_

_Hotter than a rollin' dice_

_Wilder than a drunken fight_

_You're gonna burn tonight_

_I'm a live wire, live wire….”_

When you begin to moan against him, he suddenly pulls away from you. Gasping out a breathless and needy “ _fuck_ , baby,” he grabs your wrist again before pulling you off in the direction of the toilets that lie off a corridor to one side of the main bar.

Surely not……?

Your excitement builds at the thought.

Halfway down the corridor, he picks you up by the waist and slams you against the wall in between a cigarette machine and an old jukebox.  You wrap your legs around his waist so he can pin you to the wall.   The fevered kissing begins again and now, to the sounds of Van Halen now coming through the speakers of the bar, he’s snaking a hand under your vest to brush his hand over your bra, teasing your nipple with his thumb. You groan softly against his lips, so he does it again, and you grip him tighter with your thighs, arching into his hand a little. 

_“Well if you wanna see other guys,_

_Baby I can let it slide,_

_You want a lover, you want friend,_

_Well mama I can be both of them…..”_

His other hand is holding you in place, his palm pressed to the back of your thigh just where it curves into your arse cheek, and you’re glad you’d decided to wear your denim cut off skirt tonight.  His hand feels warm as it grips your skin and he kisses you harder, more urgently as you moan against him.  His tongue explores your mouth languidly, and every now and then he catches your bottom lip in his teeth before sucking it into his mouth a little. 

_“I’ve got the tools to satisfy,_

_Just walk away,_

_If I fall shy at all….”_

He pulls your bra down under your vest so that your skin strains up to his hand.  He covers you completely, squeezing gently and you arch to him again.  Each time you do that, your skirt rides up a little higher.  People walk past on their way to the bathroom, but you don’t care. You just want him closer. So you make a low-pitched needy sound in the back of your throat and pull his mouth closer to you with a hand at the back of his head, his hair wrapped around your fingers.  He grunts in reply, pulling away from your lips with a wet noise; removing his hand from you briefly to pull your vest down, he then lowers his mouth to your nipple and flicks his tongue across the pebbled skin.  You groan loader, letting your head fall back against the wall, and you feel him smile against you as he licks you again before sucking you into his hot mouth.  You can feel yourself getting wetter as he continues to lap at you with his tongue, oblivious to the passers-by who either don’t seem to notice or who just don’t care about the two of you. You push a hand under his t-shirt and find that his nipples are standing hard against the fabric. He growls against you as you pinch him between your thumb and forefinger and he bites your nipple in playful retaliation.

_“Come on baby, finish what you started_

_I'm incomplete_

_That ain't no way to treat the broken hearted_

_I need some sympathy……”_

Leaning into you heavily to make sure you’re secure against the wall, he reaches around with his other hand and slides it between both of you.  You feel him smile against you again as he feels how wet you are and that you’ve soaked through your knickers.  You take a moment to savour the feel of his fingers on you, then push your hips into him roughly and unwrap your legs from him; he pulls away and looks at your with a combination of confusion and frustration. You simply give him your filthiest smile and slide down his body until your feet are back on the floor, after which you bend slightly to take off your knickers, discarding them on the grubby, sticky floor of the bar corridor. 

His answering smirk is just as filthy as yours, and he quickly pushes up against you again, reaching a hand down and under your skirt. With his other hand, he pins your wrists together above your head against the wall.  You gasp as his fingers find your wet folds again and then your clit.  With two of his fingers, he begins to rub as you stand there against the wall, not caring who sees the both of you.  He then slides his fingers inside you and you gasp at the feel of him, thick digits moving and curling slightly to feel every inch of you. Whimpering as he pulls his fingers back out, you watch with heavy eyes as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, tasting you. His eyelids flutter as his tongue works over his fingers and you bite your lip.  When he takes his fingers from his mouth, you strain your head forwards, hands still pinned, and lick his fingers, tasting yourself.  His smirk is back and he leans forwards, offering you his lips.  You nibble greedily at them, trying to get him closer to you.  He's teasing you now as you strain against his grip on your wrists.

You want him.

All of him.

And he knows it.

Fucking tease.

_“Right on time, you will arrive_

_By keepin' the dream alive_

_It's alive and it's kicking_

_Inside of me_

_So come on baby, please…..”_

He's looking at you with an expression that says he knows exactly what he's doing and you stare back, panting and squirming, desperate to have his hands back on you, in you.  His eyes darken as you moan your blatant need for him and he lowers your wrists, still held together and pulls you off towards the men's toilets.

Yes.

Oh fuck yes.

It's a dingy bathroom but there's a cubicle at the back and he pulls you inside after him before turning and pushing you up against the door. 

Neither of you bother to lock it.

Neither of you care.

_“Come on baby, finish what you started_

_I'm incomplete_

_That ain't no way to treat the broken hearted_

_Come on and finish me…..”_

 He sinks to his knees, pushes up your skirt around your waist and grabs you by the back of one of your thighs, moving your leg over his shoulder. Sinking his head down between your legs, he goes to work.

And sweet Jesus does he go to work.

His tongue finds your clit and he begins to flick and roll it with greedy abandonment.  Your fingers grip his hair and pull him closer as you feel his breath against you hot and urgent.  Your hips, with a mind of their own, grind against that magnificent tongue and sparks start to shoot through your body.

You're close.

So close.

Almost on the brink.

You're moaning, not caring if anyone outside the cubicle can hear you.  The door is rattling as he brings you to the edge, hungrily devouring you.  Just before you tip over into the blissful waves of your climax, he pulls away.  You manage to drag your eyes open, your cunt on fire, and whimper at him as he grins up at you.  His lips are wet with your juices and he stands to let you kiss him hungrily and taste yourself.  You pull at his belt and thank God it opens easily (you couldn’t stand another moment’s delay), before you tear at the buttons on his fly.  He's straining against the denim and he lifts one of your legs around his waist before pushing his jeans down over his hips.  His hands are on your hips as he finds you wet and eager and thrusts into you in one full, solid stroke.  You almost scream at how good it feels and he puts a hand over your mouth to quieten you.  You bite at his palm but that just makes him grin at you as he pulls out ever so slowly, torturing you before sinking back into you.  You contract around him, trying to hold him inside you and moan against his hand.  Then, he sinks his teeth into your neck before finally fucking you.

Fucking you hard and fast against the rattling cubicle door.

Fuck it feels good.

So good.

Hot.

Sweaty.

And oh so sweet.

You were so close before that, in what seems like a matter of seconds, you're coming hard and fast, your breath rushing out of you as you scream against his hand and arch into his him.  The sparks that had been building now explode through your entire body, washing over you like a tidal wave.  His eyes flutter closed slightly as he feels your cunt grip him and you shake and jerk against him, nails digging into his back through his t-shirt.  He drives into you harder and you're convinced that the door of the cubicle is going to rattle off its hinges as you urge him on faster and harder.  His mouth finds yours, sucking at your lips, and you can still taste yourself on his tongue.  Finally, with one last hard thrust of his hips, he shoots into you, filling you, and his fingers dig into your hips as he comes.  He bites your bottom lip as his body tenses, the veins on his arms standing out as his grip tightens further.

You taste blood, but you don't care.

His body goes limp against you then, flopping forwards, covered in sweat and sex and satisfaction.  His heart is pounding in his chest and his face is buried in your own sweat-slicked neck.

Seriously, how is the cubicle door still standing?      

You bring a hand up to the back of his head, fingers finding his damp hair, and tug gently to get him to lift his gaze to yours. His eyes are slightly sleepy as his panting begins to subside and you kiss him lazily. 

******* 

Later, he's giving you a piggy back down the sidewalk to his car.  The night air, although still warm, makes you shiver slightly as the sweat begins to dry.  You both laugh at what you've just done.  Your underwear is still on the floor somewhere in the bar and despite attempting to straighten out your clothes, you both look as though you've just fucked each other in a toilet.  The neck of his t-shirt is stretched to the point of almost being ripped and your vest is now just as baggy.

“So, do I still owe you?” you murmur into his ear as you press your cheek against his temple.

“We'll see,” he replies.

“C'mon, I went to dinner with you like you asked. I'd say we’re even now.”

“And the fucking in the bathroom of a shitty rock bar?”

“You started that.”

“Woman, I _ALWAYS_ finish what I start.”


End file.
